


Bit Like Shakespeare

by dreamerbee



Series: Bit Like Shakespeare [1]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerbee/pseuds/dreamerbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't play the Bard Card lightly.</p>
<p>bb!Tatennant fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bit Like Shakespeare

** London, 1992 **

David sat on the steps of the small staircase outside the stage door. Rain poured down – as it does most of the time in London – and he shivered from the depths of his coat. He knew he should be heading back to the hotel or alternatively going with his cast mates to witness London’s famous nightlife first-hand and yet he didn’t feel like doing neither. 

They had been touring for weeks and he had to admit he was tired. He loved his job and was grateful and relieved for getting the part, but he already knew every job has its hazards and apparently long tours were one of them. He felt absolutely exhausted and – though he loathed admitting it – he felt homesick too. He did love London but it wasn’t simply a matter of cities and places. What he missed the most was the _feeling_ of home; the feeling of being able to go back to a place you knew was yours at the end of the day and to fall asleep in your very own bed.

He missed his couch and his favourite tapes, staying up late reading curled up under his duvet; he even missed his less than stellar cooking and the bad takeaways he used to order when he was too lazy to make dinner. He wanted the comfort and reassurance of a familiar setting; weeks he had been away and he felt frail and small, alone in a foreign place. And he was literally alone as he sat pondering; he was absolutely knackered, too tired to go out with his mates, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to a cold and sterile hotel room.

So he sat by himself on the stairs, trying to shield himself from the rain as best as he could and trying to ignore the hunger he’d already started feeling.

And then a soft voice reached his ears.

“Excuse me?”

He looked up, half-expecting  it to be someone from the theatre staff, asking him to leave since it was closing time or some other thing of the kind; he was greeted by the sight of a ginger girl, looking about the same age as his (perhaps a couple of years older?), smiling nervously at him.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she paused, fidgeting a bit with a lock of her hair before proceeding “I just wanted to congratulate you. I watched the play and I thought you were fantastic. So... Congratulations.”

He blinked at the sudden compliment.

“Well... Thanks. I’m David, by the way.” He offered his hand, smiling a tired smile, and she took it, still looking nervous but smiling back at him “You are...?” 

“I’m Catherine. Catherine Ford. You’re really good, you know that? I really, really liked it. I’ll be looking forward to watch more of your work.” 

“Thanks again.”

There was an awkward pause and she started turning, obviously preparing to leave.

“Well, then... Good bye, David. See you around.”

“Wait!” He called out and she froze, politely waiting for him to speak. He rose from his spot, trying to ignore the water that started soaking his clothes as he moved away from his (admittedly shabby) shelter. “I was just wondering. Do you know a place where I can get something to eat nearby? It’s just- as you can see, we’re not from here and...”

The small smile once again returned to her features.

“Well, yes. I can take you there if you want me to.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Now, he swore he had no ulterior motives asking her that (though she _was_ really pretty); he was genuinely hungry. And he genuinely didn’t know his surroundings. Still his heart skipped a bit when she offered to go with him

He wondered what it meant.

She opened an umbrella (another reason for him to feel gratitude towards her) and beckoned for him to come closer; they scooted close to stay away from the rain and her perfume smelled of vanilla and jasmine. He started registering the fact that he was walking close, _really close_ , to a pretty, _really pretty_ girl, who had just agreed to go out with him. Well, at least in a sense.

His heart skipped a beat again and this time he knew it was due to his nervousness.

In truth David was kind of rubbish with girls. He was too skinny, too gangly and too awkward to walk into a room exuding confidence and, coincidentally, confidence seemed to be exactly what most girls were looking for. Sure, he was nice enough, he supposed. Sure, he was kind enough. But a feeling of inadequacy and awkwardness that accompanied him since he was a teenager just wouldn’t go away and it kept holding him back.

Nice, lovely Catherine walked by his side, panting softly due to the effort of the walk plus the cold weather, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. Besides, of course, ignoring all the thoughts suddenly prompted by her panting. He could feel his cheeks warming.

_ Talk to her _ , his conscience urged, and he cleared his throat, desperately trying to think of something nice to say.

“So... So, Catherine, what do you do? Work, I mean. Do you work in the theatre?”

She didn’t answer right away and he wondered if he had somehow offended her already. It had to be a new personal record.

“No,” she said after a few minutes, a tiny smile dawning on her face “I don’t. I’m still at college, actually.”

“Really? What are you studying? If- If you don’t mind telling me, of course.”

The smile never faltered.

“No, not at all. I’m a drama student.”

He grinned back at her.

“You’re studying to be an actress, then.”

“Yes, though sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for this job. Here, we’ve arrived.”

She halted before he could comment on her last statement; he looked around and noticed they had stopped by a fish and chips stall.

“Fish and chips?”

“Do you like it? I thought you might like to eat something that reminded you of home.”

He smiled broadly at that. Thought he knew she was probably just making fun of his Scottish accent, she somehow had still noticed that anything that seemed like home was exactly what he needed at the moment.

“Good afternoon,” he turned to the stall’s owner, who looked at them with a face that clearly stated _I really don’t want two customers right before closing time_ “can we have two...?”

“ _One_ packet of fish and chips,” Catherine interrupted “and a slice of pizza.”

He blinked in mild surprise.

“Aren’t you going to eat a bit of home with me? Quite rude, really, after you invited me and all.”

 “Vegetarian.” She winked.

“Ooh. All right, then. I’ll excuse you, missy. Though,” he added, receiving his warm packet and her pizza from the grumbling vendor and handing her food to her as they sat on the doorstep of a closed store nearby “I may ask you for compensation.”

“In which form, mister?”

“Well, you just said you don’t think you’re cut out to be an actress. Can you tell me why so?”

She took a bite from her pizza and didn’t answer.

“C’mon, please?” He pleaded through a mouthful of chips, nudging her slightly. She stole one of his chips and ate it before taking another bite; still silent. “Ok, then, sorry for asking. I didn’t want to intrude or anything, it’s just you mentioned and I was cur--”

“Do you know those phases when you just can’t get work and you start wondering if you’re not on the right career path?”

He nodded. Though he had been lucky enough to get plenty of work ever since he left college, some of his old classmates weren’t doing so well.

“Apparently I’m going through one of them and it’s been going on for two years already.” She deadpanned, somewhat bitterly “And after everything I went through to get into college, this time I really thought that maybe I could make it... You see, I got this small part in a TV series two years ago and I was so, so excited, even though it’s not really what I want to do...”

“And what do you want to do?” 

“I...” She blushed, averting her eyes “Don’t laugh, ok? But I love theatre. I really wish I could do theatre. Still, I wasn’t able to get a part until now. And I know I’m not particularly brilliant or gifted or anything and if I get paid jobs on television, I won’t complain.”

“Why would I laugh? I understand. Theatre is great. I love doing it. And the only thing I really don’t understand is how it’s possible for everything to be happening so fast, y’know, one moment I’m fresh out of college and the other I’m doing play after play... It overwhelms me. I wonder if I’ll ever get to work again after the good phase passes. And I just started babbling. I’m sorry” He turned to his fish, hoping to conceal the fierce blush on his cheeks.

She raised her eyebrows, looking truly baffled.

“What do you mean; you don’t know if you’ll get to work again? I saw you today, you’re great! I bet you’ll make it big and everything.”

He snorted, choking on his fish, and laughed as he coughed. 

“You’re too kind, Catherine. Really, I don’t think I have what it takes.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re good. You’re talented. And you have the dashing good looks to boot, so why not?”

He started laughing again and she rolled her eyes.

“What now? Are you going to say you’re not handsome? Don’t try playing humble with me, mister, it won’t work.”

“I’m not, though! Look at me, I’m... I’m just all... Awkward.  Not romantic comedy material at all.” She smirked.

“You do seem pretty funny. And also pretty romantic, I might add.”

“Well, you’re also pretty funny. And romantic. Also this might be a good moment to say fish and chips make a very nice first date, so thanks for that.”

“Oh, are we on dating terms now? I don’t even know your last name.”

“McDonald. Or Tennant, just pick the one you like best... Stage name, still getting used to it, really...”

“David Tennant.” He felt a shiver run down his spine; suddenly he liked his stage name ten times better. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He hummed, absent-mindedly “ _In a West End town, a dead end world...”_

“ _The East End boys and the West End girls..._ Ha! I know this one!” She grinned, a bright, honestly pleased grin, and he knew he had to kiss her now.

He shook as he tentatively sneaked his arm around her shoulders. He leaned and his stomach clenched as their noses touched; she turned her face on the last second and he managed only to kiss her cheek, bordering on the corner of her mouth.

He hastily moved away from her, his face so hot he felt like he would burst.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I... I don’t know what came over me, I mean--”

“David,” She was also blushing now and her flushed cheeks looked so lovely he kind of wanted to kiss them again “you seem pretty nice and everything, but we’ve only met each other.”

“No, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry, I...”

“Say, let’s keep in touch, ok? And then we’ll see what happens.”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, before quickly controlling himself “Yes, I... I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. I’ll be leaving in a few days, though... I really need to go back to the hotel, now that I think of it...”

“So, lover boy, are you going to give me your address or what?” Her tone was teasing, but her smile was kind. He quickly searched his pockets for a pen and tore off the cleanest corner he could find of the fish and chips wrapping paper. He quickly scribbled his address and wavered a little before scribbling another phrase beneath it; he gave it to her and gingerly kissed her forehead before skipping down the street, quickly getting soaked under the still pouring rain.

Catherine shook her head, picking up the small piece of paper. There was his address; and under it, there it was.

“ _ Who ever loved that loved not at first sight? _ ”

________________________________________

Her first letter came a few weeks after he came back from the tour.

He got home from the rehearsal, fetching the small bunch of letters and already dreading the bills that certainly had come. He skimmed through the envelopes and stopped as he stumbled upon one addressed in a foreign hand-writing.

He tore it open and quickly read the single sheet of paper inside it.

It was more of a note than a letter if he was to be nitpicky, but he wouldn’t. She had written to him. She had really written; he had started thinking she wouldn’t.

“Dear Mr. Tennant,

If you think you’ll be able to use the Bard to impress me, you have another thing coming.

As you seem to like Mr. Shakespeare so much, here’s another quote from him.

_ We’ll be friends first _

Love,

Catherine

P.S.: As you may have noticed, my address came on the envelope. Feel free to use it as you see fit.”

________________________________________

“Catherine!”

She nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard her mother’s delighted squeal. She ran downstairs to find Josephine checking the post with a really goofy smile on her face.

“What is it, mum? Did I pass an audition, did I get a job?”

“Darling, it’s a letter from _a boy_!” Catherine rolled her eyes, opening the letter as her mother stood excitedly by her side. “Who is he, baby? Do I know him? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned a David before...”

“Oh, mum, please shut up. I barely know him.”

“Doesn’t sound like it” Josephine noted impishly as she read over Catherine’s shoulder.

“Dear, beloved Miss Catherine Ford,

You shouldn’t mock me, you know. You should realise that when a man uses the Bard Card, he’s serious and truly pouring his heart out.

And it may sound hasty, but I know you’re something else. I can feel it. Do I sound romantic-comedy enough yet?

You also didn’t mention how you are doing. I truly want to know. How is life? Pray tell me, since you’re so keen on the idea of being friends and all that.

Also, a word from my friend Romeo.

_ ‘What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?’ _

_ ‘Not having that which having makes them short.’ _

_ ‘In love?’ _

_ ‘Out-’ _

_ ‘Of love?’ _

_ ‘Out of her favour where I am in love.’ _

Lots of kisses (on your cheeks or not),

David.”

________________________________________

“Dear David,

‘Hasty’ sounds just about right. You should hold your horses before you start talking about love without meaning it. You may have a crush on me; I’ll give you that (though I have no idea why you would. I still think you could get about any girl you wanted, so why waste your time with me?), but love’s a different thing altogether.

You ask me how’s life, so nice to meet you, I’m Catherine Ford. I’m an unemployed college student, which’s not very nice. The unemployed part, I mean. I live with my mum, just the two of us, but I see my Nan and my godparents way too often ( _I love them all very much. Just so you know. Here’s love for you_ ) and I’m way too paranoid and negative. I’m reaching for a dream I’m not sure I can achieve, yet somehow I can’t give up on it anyway. I’m a vegetarian, but you already knew that. I can’t cook to save my life, so if you’re looking for a wife who’ll pamper you and be the shining star of the household you can forget it, but then again, why am I even talking marriage with you?

It must be all your love nonsense. If you keep repeating it, I’ll start believing it. And then I’ll be just signing myself up for a gigantic heartbreak, won’t I?

Yes, you’re definitely romantic-comedy material, David Tennant. Though I think it’s a bit too early to decide if you’re the nice man or the bad man. You know; the bad man? The one who steals the heroine’s heart just to throw it on the ground and stomp on it afterwards so she can be comforted by the nice man and realise that all that time he was the right one for her? Please don’t be the bad man. Please tell me you’re not the bad man.

And now I recall the words a nice fellow once said

_ Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, _ _  
Men were deceivers ever;  
One foot in sea, and one on shore,  
To one thing constant never.  
Then sigh not so,  
But let them go,  
And be you blithe and bonny,  
Converting all your sounds of woe  
Into Hey nonny, nonny. _

By the way, I like ‘Much Ado’ way better than ‘Romeo and Juliet’. Let’s face it, those two were really nice and everything, but they were kind of stupid. Hastily falling in love and everything. Though who am I to preach, right?

‘Much Ado’, that I can work with. ‘Romeo and Juliet’, not so much. I’m not sure if I’m the right person to deal with heartbreaks and poison and daggers.

Keep that in mind.

Reluctantly yours,

C.”

He leaned back on his sofa, folding the letter he’d just re-read for the twentieth time that day and smiling to himself as he pondered upon her words.

“Much Ado About Nothing”. Yes, he could work with that too. It was strangely fitting. He pictured her in his mind, fierce, strong and obstinate.

His very own Beatrice.

The correspondence kept going for the rest of the year and most of the next. The letters grew lengthier and lengthier, more and more personal. Both slowly realised that besides the playful flirting and the mild banter, the other was a person whom they could rely on.

He told her about his plays and rehearsals. She told him about looking for work and he exulted when she mentioned there was a possibility of another small part on television coming up; it wasn’t much, she said, but it was a start.

And steadily, letter by letter, the Shakespearean quotes started sounding more and more passionate.

They quoted “ _As You Like It_ ” and “ _A Midnight Summer’s Dream_ ”, “ _The Tempest_ ” and “ _Hamlet_ ”, “ _The Merchant of Venice_ ” and countless, countless sonnets.

Shakespeare took a whole new meaning and re-reading the plays and the sonnets searching for good quotes became a hobby; once he shyly admitted to this in one of his letters, she replied she did exactly the same.

Catherine had never believed in long-distant relationships; they seemed too complicated, too artificial. She felt apprehensive about trusting and giving herself to him completely, the fear of him toying with her feelings never disappearing completely.

She felt her happiness deeply connected to the frequency with which he wrote to her and just that thought was enough to make her consider putting an end to all that. She was vulnerable and that was scary.

Then he would quote Sonnet 75 and she was putty in his hands.

All was well, or all would be well if it has ended well, and yet one day he simply stopped writing.

Weeks rolled by without a word from him. She kept telling herself she should’ve seen it coming since the very beginning; he had probably found a petite Scottish girl who also knew how to quote Shakespeare and who didn’t live miles away from him.

Though the fact she should’ve seen it coming didn’t make it hurt less.

After silently crying herself to sleep for days, she decided to forget all about it. Crying over him was a complete waste of time and effort. If he was so keen on whatever he was doing, too keen to even write to her and say good bye properly, she wouldn’t want to talk to him neither. Focusing on her career should be her top priority from now on.

** London, 1994 **

He parked his car and swept a hand through his hair, sweat dripping from his forehead. Seven hours he had driven south. He checked his map nervously; he knew this was her borough, but trying to find her street amongst the labyrinth made out of crossroads was proving to be too great of a task given the circumstances. He blinked, feeling weariness starting to weigh down on him.

He got out of his car, revelling in the cool and fresh air of the beginning of the night. He exhaled slowly and hoped against hope she wouldn’t be _too_ mad at him.

The way things were going, there was no way he was going to find her before morning. As he thought that, he realised he had come down with no place to stay. He wondered if he could find a hostel before the night was over. Or perhaps he should just sleep in the car. Right now, it didn’t really matter to him.

He screened his surroundings and noticed a flower shop still open on the other side of the street. A thought struck him; he fished for his wallet in his pocket and ran across the street.

A small bell rang and a friendly-looking ginger lady smiled at him.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hmm... I’d like to have a bouquet delivered; do you think you could do it today?”

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I’m not sure if we can do it today...” She paused, eyeing him, and he knew it was unfair to pull a kicked puppy look, but right now the only thing he cared about was if it would work or not. “Tell you what, why don’t you pick up some flowers, write down the address and we’ll see what we can do?”

He beamed at her and together they put up a bouquet; amaranth, daisies, pink and white roses.

“That’s just perfect, thank you!”

“Oh, you’re welcome. Now, where do you want us to deliver it?”

“Right, here...” He quickly wrote down the address “It’s not too far from here, I suppose; I’d go myself but I’m really tired and I just came from Glasgow, I don’t quite know how to walk around here yet...”

The clerk read the address and her smile widened.

“You know what, we _can_ deliver it. And actually I might have a proposal to you.”

“Catherine, I’m home!” She averted her eyes from the television and looked up at her mum, who smiled sweetly at her. “How are you, baby?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” She sighed. “How are you, though? How was your day?”

“Quite good, actually. We have a new delivery boy at the flower shop.”

“Really.”

“Yes! Do you want to meet him?”

“Mum, what have I told you about trying to set me up--”

“David, come on in, love!”

And there he stood, on her living room, with flowers. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him, slap him or just burst into tears.

“Well, you children must have some catching up to do, I’ll see to dinner, ok?” Josephine sing-sang, excusing herself.

He stood awkwardly, leaning the bouquet on his left arm and his right arm alternatively; she felt like she could cut the tension with a knife. He inhaled sharply.

“Cath...”

“Why did you stop writing?”

He winced at the anger that bled through her voice.

“Not a word from you. For weeks. Do you even imagine the things that were racing on my mind? They weren’t nice things, that I can tell you.”

“I... I know I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am and probably nothing I can say will make you less mad anyway, but... I didn’t intend to take so long. It was to be only a week and then I’d come here. It was supposed to be a surprise. Then the TV series came along and I got caught up...”

“So caught up you couldn’t even _write_.”

“I told you, I know sorry doesn’t make it all right... But I am sorry. For real. I had to take care of a lot of things before coming, but now it’s all settled...”

“What ‘things’, what are you on about?”

“Things like returning apartment keys, paying the last bills, getting petrol for the car, finding a way to move my furniture and all that... I’m moving, Catherine. I’m moving here. Well, not _here_ , I still need to find a place, actually, but ‘here’ as in ‘London’ h--”

He was cut off by her lips upon his.

“ _Peace,_ ” She whispered “ _I’ll stop your mouth.”_

“ _ I will live in thy heart, _ ” He muttered “ _die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes…_ ”

“ _You and me babe, how about it?_ ”

“That’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ by the Dire Straits.”

“I know.”

And she kissed him again.

He still didn’t know where he would sleep that night, but he didn’t care.

Life was just beginning, really; and they had forever and a day.

_ end. _


End file.
